IF YOU HAVE NOT READ BROKEN MIRRORS THERE IS NO POINT IN READING THIS. I MEAN YOU COULD TRY BUT IT'LL BE HARD. SO READ THAT SHITTY PIECE OF SHIT FIC AND THEN READ THIS BECAUSE I PROMISE THAT THIS WILL BE SO MUCH BETTER THAN THAT.

The house was nice. Nothing special, old enough to have the lovely wooden personal touches left by the builders, but new enough to look modest instead of fanciful. The porch didn't wrap around the front and sides, nor did it have a balcony like his brother's. It was just…nice.

Canada needed nice. He hadn't had nice for a long time.

The nation stood at the door to his new home with a few bags at his feet and the keys in his hands. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, carrying what little possessions he had brought with him. The building was sparsely furnished, but he was sure to fix that soon enough. Matthew nodded approvingly and smiled slightly. He could make this work, he'd have to. Toronto was a buzzing metropolis filled with new opportunities and plenty of people that didn't know him- as long as he stayed away from the provincial government buildings. The neighbourhood was good, Gerard and Main street, the place was far enough from Queens Park so the chances of not being seen were excellent.

Matthew walked up the stairs and pushed open the first door to his left. The bathroom. His mouth tightened as he recalled the events of the previous year when he had first decided to disappear from his flat and capital all together.

"He attempted to stand up and eventually managed to pull himself though the darkness to the washroom. His legs felt as though they would give out from underneath him at any given moment.

He needed a light.

He had to see.

He had to make sure it was him.

He had to make sure that he was himself.

Canada's trembling hands found the switch and the lights flickered on. The walls were stained with reddish brown streaks. There was a strange rotting smell that filled his nose.

The mirror was smashed and barely there.

Matthew pretty much fell out of the washroom and slammed the door behind him.

His bedroom was still drenched in darkness that bled into everything, maybe it was a certain dark madness that accidentally bled into his mind.

This couldn't be happening.

He was better. He was okay. He just needed time.

Turning around Canada slowly re-opened the door. He breathed laboured breaths.

It was fine. The bath room was clean.

He would be okay."

He hadn't been okay. Everything he did, everything he saw, reminded the nation of Him. That horrible man who had ruined his life and trailed behind him as a smashed reflection. With a shaky sigh Canada closed the door to the washroom, firmly, and walked to his new bedroom. It was at the front of the house, with a window that looked out onto the road. Light shone through the window brightening up the clean room and illuminating the tiny bits of dust floating like snow in the blank space.

'Think of snow.' Matthew told himself, 'You like snow.' In his mind he listed all of his favourite things until the shaking had left his bones. The young man had lost count of the amount of times he had had to use this coping strategy. His list always stopped though right before he could reach names. He didn't want to think of names right now. Canada pulled his new cell phone from his pocket and flicked through the contact list. It was empty except for two names; Gil, and Al.

When Canada left his flat with only a few bags he had tried to distance himself from everything that had led up to his initial breakdown. That apartment was the last straw, at night he could feel old memories seeping into the cracks of his mind- warping and disfiguring his personality. He had changed his number, stopped going to meetings, moved out of the heart of his country, and even left Kumajirou behind. Since his current boss didn't really like Toronto, he hadn't been to the large city in a long time. Matthew curled his lip in distaste; his "boss" didn't have control over him anymore. That's right- for the first time in forever Matthew Williams was taking control of his life. He had to get back on track, if he couldn't…well then there was no hope and he might as well try and get stabbed by France again.

Canada shook his head of the thought. He realised that his hand had drifted to the scar on his chest that was left from the sword and now gripped the material of his shirt tightly. A strange pain seemed to emanate from it and with a slight gasp he was no longer in his new bedroom. He had done it again- let his mind slip. Now the young nation found himself kneeling in the hallway of the meeting place. Blood poured from his chest and the sound of sobbing hit his ears. He felt something drip from his mouth as he coughed. The taste of copper was undeniable. He knew what happened next. The darkness came, then She came. She, who had supposedly made it all better. He began to fall and the ground came up to meet him.

The darkness came.

So yes? No? Should it suffice for my disappearance? I am pretty happy with it so really, you can complain but I'll keep going. This time I'll even write it on my laptop to avoid stupid mistakes that were prevalent in Broken Mirrors.